


Classified

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bond is nosy, Q didn't sign up for this, and Alec is very, very protective of the quartermaster.</p><p>(M didn't sign up for this, either, but no one asked.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classified

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to mistflier1102, who was kind enough to beta!

Bond never asked for help so much as wheedled the answers that he wanted out of unsuspecting accomplices.  Most people were more than willing to give up a little information if they thought doing so would prove beneficial, and Bond was very good at making most propositions seem _very_ beneficial.

So far, for what he wanted, the usual tactics weren’t working.

He’d tried R and she’d all but rolled her eyes at him before sending him off.  Other quartermasters had been more receptive, but their information was even more limited than Bond’s.

When that failed, he’d gone back to the source.  He’d tried, over and over, to get information on his target, but to no avail: the man’s lips were sealed.  Suffice it to say, too, that he was not impressed with Bond’s needling questions.

(Sadly, he was also not impressed with Bond’s impressive range of subtle seductive techniques.  Even if he gave away no information at all, Bond would have given up the venture just to see a faint blush.  There was the slightest indication of interest, though: dilated pupils, accelerated breathing.  That tiny spark kept Bond’s venture alive.)

All in all, though, Bond had very little information.  All he had was what was available in the official file.

“Alias: Q.  Height: 1.75 m.  Weight: 9.4 st.  Age: 31. 

That was the entirety of it.  Bond had delved deep, but he had found nothing else.  Her Majesty’s Secret Service kept no further records of the being known as Q.  There wasn’t even so much as a bank account for a direct deposit.  The man was a ghost.  That is, if a ghost could threaten to send Bond into the field with a bubble gun instead of a Walther PPK.

It was Q’s age that bothered Bond the most.  It had taken Bond more than a decade of Navy service before he was recruited by MI6, and even then it was another eight years before he assumed double-0 status.  Bond didn’t consider his path to be anything akin to standard operating procedure — he was given to understand that most people actually handed in applications — but he was quite sure that Q hadn’t taken any sort of direct path to his current position. 

On average, no one in Her Majesty’s Secret Service was considered for promotion until around five years in.  Given that the old Q had died rather suddenly, Q had to have been pre-selected as successor sometime beforehand.  The transition had been too smooth for anything else.  More time was needed to make that happen, perhaps six or seven years.

All that meant was that, sometime between the ages of twenty-four and twenty-five, Q was brought into Q-Branch.  He had to have just gotten out of university, perhaps at loose ends with himself.  Bond couldn’t imagine him working at a tech startup, or anything else boffins usually did.  He was Q of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.  Bond couldn’t imagine Q could have existed elsewhere.

(Rather, he didn’t want Q to exist anywhere else.  He wanted him here, at MI6.) 

To find out what he wanted, much as Bond hated it, the only thing left was to ask another professional.  As it happened, the only other professional in the building was in MI6 headquarters, conveniently located where Bond could find him at the firing ranges.

“James,” Alec said, removing the earmuffs when he saw his fellow double-0 approaching.

“Alec,” Bond said.  

Alec nodded at an elderly man with a clipboard who promptly made himself scarce.  “I don’t need Rowlett to tell me I’m the best shot in the Service,” Alec said, picking up the sheets, “but it is always nice to see it in writing, don’t you think?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”  

Alec smiled.  Bond smiled back.

“And yet, you come down to find me, hands in your pockets and that look on your face.  You need something.”

“And yet,” Bond parroted as Alec put a Browning BDA, presumably modified by Q, back into its appropriate casing.  There was no sense in subtlety; Alec would see straight through it.  “I wonder if you know something about one of our newest associates.”

“The new blood, is it?  Need some information to seduce your way into someone else’s bed?  I’m sure I can give you something to work with.”

That wasn’t exactly what Bond had in mind, but there was no point in correcting Alec.  “Q,” he said.

Bond may have been trained as a spy, but he would have to have been an idiot not to notice how Alec’s muscles tensed at the mere mention of the alias.

“You want information on our quartermaster?” Alec asked, turning back around, that smile still on his face.  They’d been on enough missions together that Bond knew well how Alec transitioned into 006 and back, and unless he was sorely mistaken, he had somehow managed to set the man off.

“Perhaps some other time,” Bond said.

“Oh, no, by all means,” Alec said, gesturing with his hands held wide.  He didn’t move away from the table with the gun case.  “Ask away.  What is it about our dear quartermaster that has you in such dire straits?”

Bond figured it was worth a shot, though whether that held true in the literal sense was debatable.  The Browning was still on the table.

“‘Alias: Q.  Height: 1.75 m.  Weight: 9.4 stone.  Age: 31’,” Bond recited from memory.  “That’s everything in Q’s file.  There isn’t a shred of other information on him out there.”

“And you’re looking for it because…?”

“I want to know how he got here.  When.  Why.  I can’t trust someone I don’t know.  You know that.”

Alec ran one hand across the case of the Browning BDA.  “Hardly seems relevant, don’t you think?  He’s a tech prodigy.  He’s in a class of his own.  You don’t need to know him to trust him.”

Bond’s eyebrows are in his hair before he can think to school his features.  “A class of his own?  Come on, now.  He’s a kid.”

“He’s our quartermaster,” Alec replied, his voice hot.  006 was steadily bleeding to the surface.  “Your issues with authority need to find a better outlet.  Go pester M.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Bond asked.  “It took them over ten years to tap me for the Service, and nearly another ten before I got here.”

“Did you ever think that maybe you were, how do they term it,” Alec said, “a late bloomer?”

“You’re one to talk, old man,” Bond said.  He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice.

“It didn’t take me eight years for a double-0 promotion,” Alec said.  “But this is beside the point.  He’s the quartermaster, he’s young, he’s talented, and, most importantly, he’s off limits.  End of story.  Find someone else to bother on your time off, or else go to M and request a job.  He’s got plenty lined up.”

Bond took a step back and folded his arms.  To anyone else, he might have looked as if he were ceding the point.  In retrospect, doing so might have been the better decision.

Still, Bond was never known to take the easy way out.  “So, you and the quartermaster.  I always thought you only went for women,” he said smoothly.

Bond’s back hit the nearest wall _hard_.  His hands shot up in defense just as Alec said, “Come on, now, we both know I’m the better fighter, now _hold still_.”

One of Alec’s hands closed around Bond’s throat.  Bond kicked at Alec’s legs and tried to pull the hand away.  He managed to knock Alec to his knees, but the other agent’s grip on his throat never slipped.

“So you think of him like that, do you?” Alec sneered, his fingers tightening on Bond’s throat.  Bond tried to choke an answer, but his windpipe was crushed and Alec pressed up against him to render counterattack difficult.  “You are a sick bastard, James.  I can fix _that_ —“

“What the hell is going on here?”

The pressure was off Bond’s windpipe faster than it came.  Bond just barely kept his footing as Alec moved away from him, taking in gaping lungfuls of air while he scrambled for purchase.

“Q,” Alec said, moving away from Bond.  Nothing in his voice betrayed that he had nearly murdered his friend for asking a question.

The young quartermaster looked a cross between horrified and furious.  Behind him, Rowlett was wringing his hands.  Bond could hear him muttering something about the double-0 division.  Alec glared at him until he vanished.  Q, however, was immovable.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” he repeated.

“Training,” Bond and Alec said simultaneously.  It was force of habit, ingrained from the moment MI6 training began.  Whenever someone saw something they weren’t meant to: training.  Whenever anything went wrong and it got public: training accident.  Neat, tidy, controlled.

“Bullshit,” Q said.  Alec smiled so widely Bond thought his face might crack.  “You know, I am supposed to keep you alive and preferably in good working order.  Bit difficult if you’re trying to kill each other.”  Q looked to Alec.  “Tell me I don’t need to go to M.”

“You don’t,” Alec soothed.  Bond watched the conversation warily, unsure as to why he, as the attacked party, was being left out.  “Believe me, you don’t.  You didn’t tell me that the source of your unwanted attention was this thing,” he said, gesturing behind him at Bond.

Q’s eyes flickered to Bond, then down to his throat, and back to Alec.  “I was worried about something like this,” he said.  “I told you it wasn’t a problem.  Curiosity and all that.”

“Not this kind, no,” Alec said.  “You see, Bond and I have had a little chat.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bond said.  Alec shot him a look that belonged on the face of 006.

“And?” Q said.

“I’d like to formally apologize,” Bond cut in, looking at Alec rather than Q, “for bothering you.  You’ve a right to your privacy.  You have my apologies.  I meant no disrespect.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Q said.  He looked between the two of them for a long moment, then sighed, his thin shoulder dropping.  “Fine.  Wonderful.  Whatever this is,” he said, pointing between them, “clear it up.”  To Alec, he said, “How is it?”

“This?” Alec asked, resting his hand on the Browning.  “Shoots like a dream.  Marvel of engineering, that.”

Q shook his head, but the smile couldn’t be hidden.  “Don’t flatter me, I need to know how it works.”

“It’s perfect.”  Q glared at Alec.  “I mean it.”

“Fine.”  Q went for the box, and Alec slid it away.  With a frown, Q pulled back.  “Alec—”

“Oh, come on.  Let me keep this one.”

“Not a chance.  I need to review your tapes,” he said, gesturing at the ceiling, “and make modifications as needed.”

“You don’t trust me?  Come on,” Alec said.

“I trust _you_ just fine.  Your ability to follow protocol?  Not so much.  Gun, please,” Q said.  Alec didn’t budge.  “If only so I have the peace of mind in knowing that if you do kill 007 as soon as I turn around, it won’t be with one of my weapons.”

Slowly, Alec pushed the gun toward Q.  The quartermaster snatched it up.  He ran his fingers over the ridges of the box.

“Now that we’ve that straightened out,” Q said, maneuvering so that he could adjust his glasses.  “Behave yourselves, would you?”

Alec snapped a salute.  Bond just nodded.  Apparently satisfied, Q left the firing range.

“Now then,” Alec said.  He took a step toward Bond.

“Hold on,” Bond said, putting both hands up.

“No, you hold on,” Alec said.  “You never want information for more than two reasons: either you want to kill them or fuck them.  There’s no in between with you.”

“Alec—”

“No, don’t ‘Alec’ me.  Most people, you can do whatever you want.”  Alec advanced on Bond until he was pinned against the wall yet again.  Bond had the presence of mind not to fight back.  “Q is _off limits_.  Understand?”  Alec enunciated each word, sharpening the edges like so many razors.

“Perfectly,” Bond rasped.

Alec stepped away.  “Wonderful,” he said, that smile on his face again.  “So glad we’ve got that cleared up.  I don’t suppose you’d be interested in celebrating our newfound understanding with drinks this evening, then?”  

Bond declined on account of his “sore throat”, and did Alec think he might be coming down with something?

* * *

 Bond was left with a great deal more questions than he’d started with.  It was time to seek out a different kind of professional.

“No.”

Bond stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame.  “I could be getting ready to say anything.”

“But you’re not.  The answer is no.”

“What if it isn’t a yes or no question?”

Moneypenny looked up from her laptop long enough to level Bond with a withering glare.  “My answer is still no.  You shouldn’t be up here.”

“And you shouldn’t frown so much.  Leaves lines, you know.”

Moneypenny’s glare returned full force.  Bond grinned through it.

“He’s going to kill you, you know.”

Bond didn’t need two guesses to know who “he” was.  “I do believe I discovered that first-hand, yes.”

Moneypenny pursed her lips.  “Doubtful,” she said.  “Otherwise you’d be dead.”

“Unkind, Miss Moneypenny,” Bond said, pulling down his collar.  His neck was a lovely shade of purple.  Moneypenny whistled.  “I’d rather like to know why, though.”

“Classified,” Moneypenny said.

“Everything’s classified.”

“I heard you’ve been asking around about Q.”

“Like I said, everything’s classified.  What’s he doing with Alec?”

Moneypenny sighed.  “The status of 006 and Q is beyond your security clearance.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Moneypenny gave up on all pretense of working and shut her laptop.  She clasped her fingers across the lid and leaned forward.  “Why do you care?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“I _do_ know, Bond.  It’s not about me.”

“I can’t trust someone I don’t know.”

Moneypenny shook her head.  “You know, for a man with a poker face, you don’t lie very well.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.  “I think you’re interested in something other than trust.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“More of an occupational hazard, really,” she said.  “I wouldn’t trust anyone, either, if I were you.”  She sat back.  “But I’m not you, and going after Q’s a dangerous proposition.”

“So you trust me enough to tell me something I don’t know, then?”

She smiled sweetly.  “Not a chance.”

* * *

 Alec was a few days into an op in Cambodia when Bond came down to Q-Division.

“Took you long enough,” Q said when he saw Bond at the door to his office.

“You were looking forward to seeing me?  Why, Q, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.  To say that I’ve been looking forward to seeing you would be equivalent to saying that I look forward to riding the Tube home.”

“Meaning I’m long, strong, and powerful?”

Q straightened his glasses.  “A necessary evil,” he corrected.  Bond’s smile didn’t budge.  “Alec is abroad.  You wouldn’t happen to have waited for him to leave, would you?"

“Now why would I do a thing like that?”

Q picked up his Q mug and took a sip.  “Because he would threaten you with bodily harm if he knew you were here to visit,” Q said.

“Perhaps,” Bond said.  “I dare say you know something about that, though.”

Amusement glinted in Q’s eyes.  “Did it work?” he asked.

Bond knew without being told: Q wanted to know if a certain variety of exploding pen had worked.  Bond had dissected its remains and determined that it was set to blow permanent ink everywhere if it came within a certain distance of a set signal.  Bond guessed the signal originated from Q-Division, if only because it had gone off when he’d gone to see Q the first time.  How the pen had been planted, he had no idea, but not a minute later, Alec had set upon him with all the fury of a mad dog.

“I hope that prototype doesn’t reflect final functionality,” Bond said.  “Ink doesn’t usually kill a man.”

“Ruined your suit, though,” Q murmured.  “That’s good.”

“I have a few questions for you.”

“Is this going to be an interrogation?  I rather need my mind and body to remain intact, thank you very much.  Oh, and if you try for psychological warfare, you can be assured that the psych evaluation team will side with me over you any day.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Q arched an eyebrow.  “Of course not,” he said, his tone flat.

“I mean it.”

“Of course you do,” Q said smoothly.  “Now spit it out so that I can tell you that it’s classified and send you on your way.”

“You called him Alec.”

Q paused, Q mug halfway to his lips.

“Excuse me?” Q asked.

“To friends, he’s Trevelyan.  To everyone else, he’s 006.  I’m the only person I know who calls him Alec,” Bond said.  “Except you.”

Q watched Bond carefully now.  Slowly, he set his mug aside.  “And?” he asked.

“He’s special to you.”

“Everyone is special,” Q said.

Bond grimaced.  “Don’t be maudlin,” he said, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Fine.  I call him 006 over the comms and Alec in person.  I do the same for you, too, you know, though you’re Bond, not James.  Do you think that makes you special?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Don’t flirt with me.  Why do you need to know?”

Bond’s grin was lopsided.  “I don’t get to know why I nearly died?”

“He wouldn’t have killed you.  He likes you too much.”

“Perhaps.  He seemed rather determined,” Bond noted.  He pulled at his collar again.  Q’s eyes lingered on the bruises.

“In the interest of your safety, I suggest that you leave this line of questioning alone,” Q advised.

“And if I’m not interested in my safety?”

“That would explain a lot.”

“I mean it.”

Q sighed and leaned forward.  Bond watched eagerly.  With Moneypenny, it had meant that she was digging her heels in.  Q, however, was no field agent.

“Try me,” Bond insisted.  “Don’t trust me to keep a secret?”

Q eyed him over his glasses and pulled back.  Bond quietly cursed himself for interjecting.  “If the rumors are true, you’re asking questions about me because you say you can’t trust me.  Why would I trust you in turn?”

Bond instinctively leaned forward.  “Well, we could get to know each other,” Bond suggested.

“Or you could leave,” Q offered.

Bond smiled.  “Come on.  Come out for drinks with me.”

“I’ve heard that offer over the comms before, but not in person.  Do you usually look like an expectant schoolboy when you deliver it?”

“Only when I look forward to the prospect.”

Bond watched Q’s eyes flit back and forth between his own.  “Damn agents and their lack of tells,” Q said.

“You think I’m lying?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Do you want it to be the truth?”

“What I want rarely coincides with what is true.”

Bond had him.  “But you do want to.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Come on.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

 As it happened, the worst that could happen did happen: Alec, back from his op in Cambodia, found out about the arrangement, came to the restaurant, and started a fight with Bond that lasted until MPS arrived.

M seethed in silence as he eyed the three sitting before him.  Bond had managed to swing at one of the officers called to the scene.  He alleged it was accidental.  Alec, on the other hand, had swung at an officer very much on purpose when he tried to grab Q.  Q, by all accounts, had been the one to call the police in the first place and had spent the rest of his time leaning against a building, muttering obscenities.

“I don’t think there’s a damn thing I can say to any of you,” M announced finally.  “You and you,” he said, pointing at Bond and Alec, “you’re grounded until I say otherwise.  You made a damned spectacle of yourselves, I hope you’re happy.

“You,” he said, pointing to Q.  The quartermaster arched an eyebrow.  “You should have known better.  Calling the police — what on earth did you think would happen?”

Q contorted his lips, then said, “They were going to kill each other.”

“And as it is, they managed to get in swings at a sergeant and an inspector.  Five is already up my arse sideways, and once the Prime Minister finds out two double-0 agents were having a _street brawl_ , you can be damn sure she’ll want to know why.  Your programme,” M said, directing back to the agents, “is already unpopular enough.  Now explain yourselves.”

Alec cursed lowly.

“What was that?” M asked sharply.

“Old Siberian,” Q answered.  “I’d translate, but it’s rude even for present company.”  Alec barked a laugh, but M’s glare silenced all.

“I went digging for information on Q and ultimately took him out for a drink.”

“Your ethical code is astounding,” Q said.

“Alec got angry and came looking for a fight, and Q called the Met before one of us killed the other one,” Bond concluded.

M looked to Alec, who put his hands up.  “Bastard was asking for it,” he said.

Bond watched M look between Alec and Q.  Q seemed to notice this, too.

“He doesn’t know,” Q said.  “The old M had it classified.”

After a moment of relative silence, M sat back.

“Let me see if I understand.  You,” he said to Bond, “were looking for information on Q.”

“Before Alec wildly overreacted.”

Alec raised a fist, only to have Q grab his other hand.  Slowly, the agent resumed his original position.

“He never wants information for more than two reasons,” Alec said.  “I didn’t like either of them, so I decided to put a stop to it.”

“I’ve told you,” Q said, “hitting things is rarely the right answer.”

“Hush, you,” Alec said.  It lacked any real force.

“007.  Things are classified for a reason.  006.  Hitting things is rarely the appropriate response outside of fieldwork.  Q.  You have my permission, if you deem it reasonable, to declassify what you wish.  Dismissed.”

* * *

 “Not quite as spacious as M’s, but it will do,” Q said, sitting down behind his desk.

“I’m sure we could get you a better one,” Alec said quickly.

“I like my office, thanks,” Q said.  “I did pick it.  It’s just not meant for anyone other than myself.  Now, Alec, would you mind leaving Bond and I for a moment?  I’d like to have a quick chat.”

“Now, Q—“

“None of that, now.  I mean it.  You can stand outside the door if it makes you feel better.”

Bond watched as Alec silently left the office.

“Now then.  I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Q said.  “I’ll be lucky if I get funds for months.”

“I could say the same to you,” Bond said.  “Grounded, remember?”

“God save us all,” Q said.

“Plenty of time to get to know each other,” Bond teased.

A sharp, snapping noise from the other side of the door took the mirth out of Bond’s face.  Q, however, was nothing if not amused.

“Sit down, Bond,” he said.  Bond sat.  “I’m not going to tell you more about myself than absolutely necessary.  However, given the circumstances, you’d better know what you’re dealing with.”  Q sat back.  “You see, Alec is my brother.”

Bond could have sworn that time stopped.

“Come again?” he said finally.

“You heard him,” Alec’s voice came from the other side of the door.  Q rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.  You’re older than I am,” Bond said.  Another loud snapping noise served as Alec’s answer.

“Right,” Q said.  “No one said anything about blood relations.  Suffice it to say that circumstance brought us together, and occupation cemented it.  It wasn’t even legally recognizable until M — the old M — found out when she hired me.  By then, Alec had been here for quite some time.”

“So, you two…”

“Alec has looked out for me for longer than I can remember.  Only recently have I been able to return the favor.”

“I told you it wasn’t necessary,” Alec called through the door.  “No reason for you to get mucked up in all this, too.”

“We talked about this!” Q said back.

“Shouldn’t we let him in?” Bond asked.

“Do you want to die?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good to know a run-in with the Met has instilled a sense of self-preservation in you.”

Bond laughed, but quickly sobered.  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.  “Alec, come in here.”

Alec slipped into the room and locked the door behind him.

“Everyone’s hands were I can see them?” he suggested.

“Alec—“

“No, James.  My brother is off-limits.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I intended neither of the things you accuse me of?”

“I think we can all agree that Bond doesn’t want me dead,” Q said drily.  “After all, who else would have the patience to make him a new gun every time he goes out?”

Alec’s eyes looked about to pop out of his his skull.  “You don’t bring them back?” he demanded.  “Do you have any idea how long it takes Q to modify one?  They’re _masterpieces_ —“

“Alec—“ Q protested.

“—how dare you, you ungrateful—“

“ _Alec_.”

The agent quieted down.  “No, he doesn’t bring them back, but he’s getting better.  Aren’t you, Bond?”

“Every time,” Bond said.  He had been trying harder to bring the equipment back in one piece, if only because he didn’t like to hear Q’s lectures about how expensive and time-consuming it all could be.

(And perhaps, just _maybe_ , Bond tried to bring things back more because sometimes Q would smile.  It was rare, but quite worthwhile.  It was also something never to say in the general vicinity of one Alec Trevelyan.)

The three spoke for a while longer.  Alec agreed not to murder Bond for breathing the same air as his little brother and Bond agreed (begrudgingly) not to hunt for any information Q didn’t want brought out.  Alec further extracted a rather solemn promise that Bond would neither try to sexually harass or otherwise harm Q.

At the end of it, Q thought it had all gone rather well.

Of course, Bond had to open his mouth.

“What about taking it slow?” he asked.  “Relationship-wise, I mean.  I know it’s not really my usual tactic, but it was my original idea...  If you’re not averse, of course,” he said to Q.

Alec’s fists were flying within seconds.  

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt by ottersandhedgehogs: "I would love a quick little piece on Alec secretly being Q’s older brother and being very VERY protective of him :)".
> 
> Sorry it's not particularly short, but I had fun with it. I hope you enjoy!


End file.
